


Duet

by CountingWithTurkeys



Category: Adventure Time
Genre: F/F, Sick Trope, Tags Are Hard, Two Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-27 23:11:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15695271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CountingWithTurkeys/pseuds/CountingWithTurkeys
Summary: Everyone reacts to their girlfriend being sick a little differently.





	1. Dissonance

**Author's Note:**

> Real talk: I would think by now everyone has realized that I really like tropes. It's not often I want to do a fic type that has been done to death, but it happens, and here we are. I originally couldn't decide which of the two I wanted the story to be about, because I had so many ideas for both. Then I decided I didn't need to pick! So here's a two-shot, which I don't think I've done before.
> 
> Eh. I don't know. Work is very chaotic right now, so I wanted something fun and light while I work on the next chapter of Opening Act. It made for a nice distraction. After this two-shot I want to explore more about the interim of what made Sociopath Bonnie into Sociopath Bonnie. Don't get me wrong, I'm loving doing these pre-Bubblines and new-relationship-Bubblines, but we need to establish some things before Opening Act's sequel (assuming people even want part 3 when the time comes).
> 
> Disclaimer: All of my stories exist within the same universe/continuity - The Symphony Universe - which exists within main canon in a "possible but not necessarily probable" manner. They're just not posted chronologically, because where's the fun in that? All stories contain at least one reference to a future story, because I roll that way. They often contain references to past stories. They also usually hint where they happen within the canon continuity. I like hints.
> 
> Content Warnings:
> 
> Mention of alcohol consumption  
> Do not drink identified liquids  
> Description of illness  
> Science  
> Lectures

_ She’s attentive, I’ll give her that. _

“-and what were you thinking, Marceline?! You can’t just consume something because it  _ looks _ like food! What if it was poison, or infused with silver?! Did you even think about-”

_ Not… the best kind of attentive, but. You know. Still. _

“-even paying attention? I know you’re awake, Marceline. I know you can hear me-

_ Telepath! _

“-If you continue to be obstinate-”

_ I don’t even know what that word means. _

“-how worried I was about you? I had a full day of planning to ahead of me to finish construction on the library and I come into my lab to find-”

_ Maybe if I ignore her she’ll tire herself out and let me sleep. _

“-not even upset about how off schedule I am!-”

_ You sound pretty upset, Bon. _

“-but you were just involved in that accident when I was constructing the second floor of the northern wing and… when I found you…”

_ Ah, crud. _

With a groan, Marceline rolled on her back, meeting the piercing green eyes of the candy golem towering over her, eyes which quickly darted away. Well, that was no good; Bonnibel only did that when she was feeling both sentimental and was highly embarrassed about it. The smartest woman alive, dead, or otherwise had never been skilled with emotions, be they her own or other’s, and even the vampire had noticed that they had been especially volatile lately. At first she had attributed it to stress; her castle’s construction was nearing completion, her experiments to create new life - literally a new species - were proving fruitful, and she was starting to make a name for herself. But, unlike Bonnibel, Marceline actually understood emotions and quickly picked up that there was another cause… and she had a pretty good idea as to what it was.

Which had nothing to do with why she ate whatever it was that was in the conspicuous beaker in Bonnibel’s laboratory, it was just a happy coincidence.

“Come on, BonBon, I’m fine.”

This was the incorrect thing to say, as made evident by the younger woman’s eyes narrowing. “Oh are you.” It was a statement not a question, and Marceline gulped involuntarily. It was odd, really, how a woman literally made of sugar could be so terrifying, but Bonnibel made it into an art form. “Is that your hypothesis?”

This was a trick question and Marceline knew it. How it was a trick was what she didn’t know. She also didn’t know what she was meant to say to it, because the musician could count the number of things that scared her on one hand, and most of that hand was Bonnibel Bubblegum. “...Yes?”

At first the younger woman said nothing, merely appraising the queen. She was snugly tucked into their bed, because the young scientist had found her unconscious on the floor of her laboratory, had a figurative heart attack, carried her up to their room, then quickly rushed back down to the laboratory to solve the mystery of what had happened. Which she found to be fairly obvious by the shattered beaker on the floor, a beaker she knew to have been filled with a particular solution. A particular red solution. A particular red solution which was now decidedly a grey puddle, next to what she assumed were the contents of Marceline’s stomach. Her calming breath did not quash the budding fury as she realized what had happened, and she stormed back up to her room, ready to give Marceline a piece of her very large mind.

Of course, Marceline Abadeer couldn’t even give her _that_ , because the half-demon was still unconscious by the time she had returned. _That… that butt!_ Part of Bonnibel was sorely tempted to wake the vampire up right then, give her a verbal tongue lashing while she was still too dazed to defend herself, and make her displeasure _very_ apparent. Fortunately for everyone involved logic had won out, as it so often did, and she had decided that while such an action might feel good in the short term - really good in fact - _one of them_ had to be better than her baser instincts.

Safely on her moral high-ground Bonnibel gave her girlfriend a sidelong glance before shifting her attention to her trio of massive bookshelves, finally filled to capacity with tomes both new and from before the bombs.  _ If she’s going to be unconscious I may as well be productive.  _ With a resigned sigh Bonnibel lifted herself from the bed, determined to do something worthwhile until the older woman woke up. After all, with no small amount of effort the soon-to-be-royal rooms were finally complete. While physics hadn’t changed and they were no less spacious they were decidedly more filled out, making it more obvious people actually lived in them. The stone floor was a deep lavender, only a few shades darker than the walls. Her desk, a soft mauve, was piled high with blueprints, with biological and anatomical diagrams for her next generation of palace guards, and notes that were little more than scrawls.

The bookshelves themselves, stuffed as they were, were mahogany, carved into a delicate floral pattern and outlined in magenta and violet. In the corner was a tacky rose-colored beanbag chair that Marceline had insisted she donate to the room. Despite the fact that she never sat. Why the pink-haired woman had agreed she didn’t know, and it hurt her head to think about for too long. Something about the vampire being persuasive? Of course, said vampire was now occupying their bed. The impossibly soft bed, for candy people are largely soft and easily pliable. She was buried under at least four blankets, each various shades of pink, still dressed in her jeans and ‘no smoking’ t-shirt. It was a necessity, for although Marceline’s nerves were bad at understanding temperature under most circumstances the exception was severe trauma. Only then did she turn vulnerable. Only then did her body realize it was actually dead. The thought of her queen being Truly Dead made Bonnibel shudder despite, or perhaps because of, her rage, and she tore her mind away from that train in favor of pulling out some random book to entertain herself while she waited to give the singer a piece of her brilliant brain.

It turned out to be an ancient, oddly well-intact book about the study of acoustics and its medical applications penned before The Great Mushroom war, and were this any other day Bonnibel would have found the knowledge within fascinating, but her mind was fixated and she knew it was almost impossible to disentangle herself from a fixation, nor would it pass of its own accord. No, the only thing she could do was see it through, and in this case it meant waiting for Marceline to wake up. With great reluctance she closed the book and set it aside with one hand, pinching the bridge of her nose with the other as she closed her eyes, trying to focus herself, decide what she was going to say in a calm and reasonable manner. As always, listing the facts proved the solution.

She had spent the better part of the day collecting regents everywhere from the Grasslands to the ocean’s shore and had returned home utterly exhausted. In fact, she had had a lovely plan for the day: Categorize the regents, enjoy a cup of sweet tea, plan for tomorrow’s experiments, and then end the evening with breakfast with Marceline. A perfectly adequate plan for a perfectly productive day. Absolutely ruined when she returned to her lab - her previously immaculate lab, with everything in its place - only to find her girlfriend on the floor, unconscious. Bonnibel had been petrified, only calmed by the cool logic that Marceline had to be not Truly Dead, since she wasn’t a pile of ash. But then her concern mixed with anger; it hadn’t taken long to figure out the cause, or to carry her to their bedroom for her to sleep off her stupidity. The more the candy scientist thought about it the more peeved she became, concentration in tatters as she drummed her fingers on her now-closed book. Even now she remained in her now grass-stained brown cargo pants and thick white sweater, it itself stained from the sea water she had been almost literally immersed in. She flung her water-tight boots to the far corner of the room, mentally rehearsing what she intended to say, do, think, feel.

And then she heard the vampire stirring, the book was flung to the side, and the haranguing began.

To Marceline’s credit she took the diatribe like a champ, hiding under the blankets and looking chagrined. Okay,  _ maybe  _ consuming identified lab tests wasn’t her brightest moment, but she was still Undead and not Truly Dead, so that had to count for something, right? Right?

“I want to be very clear, Marceline. I’m furious with you.”

...Right?

With herculean effort Marceline pushed herself into a sitting position, though she dare not leave the bed, both because she was terrified of Bonnibel and because her body felt like it was weighed down with lead. In fact, it felt almost numb, and no sooner had she sat up her head rushed and her vision blurred. With a groan she accepted defeat and laid back down, promising herself it was only a temporary setback. She mumbled something, not even sure what, hoping Bonnibel didn’t hear anyway.

“I’m overreacting?!”

Well, this wasn’t her day.  _ Stupid brain. _

“Put yourself in my position, Marceline. What would you do if our positions were reversed?”

She had no answer. No answer except: “....You probably wouldn’t have eaten the thing, so…”

It was when she went quiet that Marceline knew she was in legit trouble. It only got worse when Bonnibel’s voice turned sickeningly sweet. “Marcy.”

If she hadn’t felt so drained the musician would have turned into a bat right then and flown away. But. “...Yes, Bon?”

“Do you understand why I’m livid?”

Marceline gulped, hiding under the blanket like the walking apocalypse she was. “...’Cause I could’ve gotten myself killed?”

“Oh good, so you are paying attention.” And then there was the sound of shuffling, of a drawer sliding open and closed, of a chair being dragged to the bed, literally dragged, making Marceline hiss from the sound. She thought she heard a muffled apology, but that could easily have been wishful thinking. “Now then.”

Feeling brave Marceline peaked from under the blankets, not liking what she was seeing at all. Bonnibel had retrieved her science notebook and quill, had an unidentifiable book in her lap, her glasses perched. The vampire gulped at the detached clinical gaze she was being fitted with.  _ Figs, I’m a science project. _

“Describe to me how you feel.”

She groaned. Really, with how well she knew her girlfriend she should have seen this coming. Bonnibel could never just sit with nervous energy; she had to do something all the time at every given circumstance. In retrospect, Marceline mused, had she just taken her lecture on responsibility and Not Doing What She Did like a big girl she probably wouldn’t be dealing with this now.  _ Thanks a lot, Past Marceline. You’re such a donkus.  _ She sighed, settling back into bed, eyes sliding shut and accepting her punishment. “Heavy. Numb. My head hurts-”

“What does it feel like?”

“Uh…”  _ Crud, she has her Science Voice on. _

“Pounding? Aching?”

“More like it’s trying to burst?”

The sound of scribbling filled the room, then ceased abruptly. “What else?”

“Uh… I’m tired? Like… not mentally, but physically?”

More scribbling. “Anything else?”

“I think my stomach hurts?”

“You think?”

Marceline frowned but didn’t open her eyes. “Bon, I’m a vampire. I haven’t been sick in hundreds of years. This is new to me. All of this is new to me.” That came out more of a snap than she had meant, but her girlfriend seemed unperturbed.

“Fascinating… you can’t get sick…” Marceline would never had caught that mumble without such acute hearing. It worried her; she really didn’t want to be a test subject to see the upper limits of what her Undead body could take, and that was  _ exactly  _ like something Bonnibel would do. “Do you remember the last time you were sick?”

The fact her tone was now more curious than irate was what elicited her to respond. Well, that and the knowledge that she maybe kind of sort of did this to herself. And  _ maybe  _ it was kind of a jerk thing to worry Bubblegum. It was just so… easy to do. It just seemed to happen naturally.

“Marceline?”

The vampire exhaled forcefully, doing her best to dredge up some concrete memory. “I don’t know, Bon. I know I was really sick all the time when I was a kid…” She trailed off, discouraged for the moment, before a memory  _ did  _ present itself. “Oh, I’ve gone one! When I was like… 7? I don’t know, time isn’t real. But when I was still living with Simon I remember I got really sick one time and we went on this wild journey to find some chicken soup. He thought it was like a cure-all, and I dunno… I was a kid, it made sense. I kind of remember some Oozers and I’m pretty sure there were clams. It’s really weird.” A half-shrug. “I might have imagined it by then, but I remember Simon finally finding a can, but he couldn’t get it open…” Her eyes closed as she tried to clarify the memory, tried to bring it into focus, the sound of Bonnibel’s writing keeping tempo with her thoughts. “I don’t really remember a lot of it, but I remember this huge pink blob was there? Like… everywhere.” The scribbling stopped, not that she noticed. “I might’ve imagined it by then, but I’m pretty sure it was there…” And then the memory slipped away and she sighed, a pounding headache taking its place. “I dunno, Bon. I don’t think I got sick after that.” Silence. “Bon?” She creaked an eye open, suddenly nervous. It was never good when Bonnibel suddenly stopped talking after being on a science-experiment roll.

She found her girlfriend watching her intently, and not with a clinical gaze. Instead she looked thoughtful, though over what Marceline could only imagine; it was virtually impossible to ever guess what Bonnibel was thinking, a side effect from being the most brilliant mind in Ooo. But the sudden disposition change still caused the half-demon to squirm, especially given her current position of ‘in trouble’. “Uh… Bon? You alright?”

That broke the young scientist’s focus and she blinked, flushing slightly from allowing her near-trance to happen in the first place. “Oh! My pardon.”

“Your what?,” Marceline smirked, despite herself. Being in trouble rarely deterred her for long.

Bonnibel huffed.  _ Well, at least she’s well enough to be sarcastic. That’s a positive, I suppose.  _ “You know my what, you butt.”

Marceline snickered; there was just something so funny about seeing such a composed woman lose huff and puff from two little words. “So, we good here?”

Wrong thing to say. Very wrong. Bonnibel narrowed her eyes. “No, Marceline, we must certainly are not ‘good here’,” emphasizing her disdain with finger quotes, quill still clutched in her hand. “I haven’t finished collecting the necessary information to analyze why exactly the substance in the beaker not only had an effect on you, but a profound one at that.”

A black eyebrow rose. “It sounds more like you just want to throw a lot of questions at me and make me jump through hoops to make a point.”

“Science can do two things at once. Is there anything else unusual you’re experiencing?”

“Uh… my skin is sensitive? And not in the good way.” A frown, accompanied by yet more scribbling.  _ Dude, how many pages is she writing? _

“Can you use your powers?”

“Which ones?,” Marceline drolled.

Wrong question. Wrong, because Bonnibel smirked. “Well, we better check all of them, just to be safe. Effective experimentation requires a good scientist be thorough.” The groan of her vampire’s exasperation was music to her ears. “But because you’re being such a good little patient slash test subject I will not ask you to raise the dead.” As she returned to her notes she ignored the soft, sarcastic ‘hooray’ originating from the bed. “Can you shapeshift?”

“Bon, I can barely lift my arms.”

“So lift a different body part.” When she received no response she glanced up, meeting the very displeased gaze of her girlfriend. “What? You did this to yourself! I’m just trying to keep you safe!” And then she fell silent, the admission causing her to flush and return to her work.

Marceline blinked at the odd outburst. “...What?”

Bonnibel sighed, laying her quill on the paper, closing her eyes from the frustration of it all.  _ For such an insightful woman you can be considerably dense at times. _ “Marceline, please consider the circumstances from my perspective. I came home after being gone for a full day, and when I arrived I found you passed out, having consumed an experiment for reasons unknown that I’m sure have something to do with sheer contempt for your own immortality.”

She wasn’t wrong, but still. “Bon, I-”

“No. You made me worry, and now you are going to listen.”

_ Fair enough, I guess- wait, worry? _

“I had no idea how long you had been unconscious for, or what exactly had happened. Yes, you were still with me or you would be a pile of ash but that’s hardly a comfort when I know nothing else. Were you comatose? In pain? Stuck halfway between Undeath and True Death? Napping to sleep off the effects? I didn’t know, and I  _ still  _ don’t know! You’re not even alive and my experiment, which I had devised for an independent purpose, was still able to incapacitate you! Do you understand the severity of that situation? What if someone got a hold of my formula and chose to weaponize it? What if I had accidentally discovered some fifth way of killing a vampire, independent from silver, a stake, decapitation, or the sun? For all intents and purposes you are a walking corpse, and logically nothing you consume should be able to hurt you, yet here we are! There could be side effects I’m not seeing, long-term effects I cannot predict!” By now her knuckles were turning white from the force of her grip on her notebook, but it wasn’t true anger she was using to glare at her girlfriend. It was anxiety.

“Hey…,” Marceline began gently. “Come here, BonBon.” With great effort she patted the side of the bed, inviting her to join her on the other side of the looking glass. When she didn’t move, still obviously conflicted, the half-demon smiled. “Please?” That small bit of humility did it, and with a small huff and great reluctance Bonnibel rose from her chair and joined the queen in bed, laying atop the covers. At least, until Marceline tried to sit up to meet her. Then Bonnibel set aside her notebook and laid down, letting strong, cool arms wrap around her.

“...You scared me, Marcy,” she whispered. In place of her anger there was only fear now, and it stabbed at the vampire. “You often talk of how afraid you are that something will happen to me, and how you regard immortality as a curse. Do you not understand that my worst nightmare is eternity without  _ you _ ? Do you have any sense how much it hurts to see you disregard your own safety on my behalf, or without any consideration that you could Truly Die from your own antics? Do you ever think about the consequences of your actions?”

_ Aw, figs.  _ Now her sarcastic humor was gone and the older woman held her love closer. Which was quite a feat, given that she hadn’t been lying about barely being able to move. Normally that final question would seem like permission for her to be further sarcastic, but sometimes context is everything. Now was such a time. “I’ll be honest, Bon… I’ve never really thought of it like that.” Perhaps it was the sincerity in her voice, but this time Bonnibel chose to listen, rather than continue her lecture. At least, for now. “I’ll admit… I guess I don’t really think about what it’s gotta be like for you. I think a lot about keeping you safe since you might be effectively immortal, but you could still die from like being stabbed or something. I can’t, so it’s just… not a thing to me?”

“But it could still happen,” the candy golem whispered, mind filled with memories of the many, many times Marceline had risked True Death without even thinking about it. Such as every day she chose to be diurnal so that she could share the day with her, rather than keep to the safety of the night sky. Knowing that if her parasol blew away, that if she lost the shade, that if her hat and gloves were gone she would-

“...Yeah. It could still happen.” The silence the pair fell into was tense and uncomfortable. “...Is that really your worst nightmare, or were you just mad mad?”

“Both.” No hesitation, no room for argument. “I’m still mondo angry at you, Marceline. You were selfish.” She buried her head in her chest, as if muffling the words would muffle the meaning. It was just so hard to let her heartguts be known, but this was something she needed to say, something Marceline needed to hear. “You just wing it and always think it’ll work out for you. What if it doesn’t and I’m left alone again? What if I spend the rest of forever just remembering what we had and wondering…” She trailed off, hand gripping the older woman’s arm. “Please, don’t make me pick out an urn for you, Marceline,” she whispered, voice uncharacteristically heavy.

Now Marceline’s humor was forgotten, the heartbreak in her girlfriend’s voice overriding her typically irreverent nature. She held the scientist as tightly as she could, let her head nestle in the crook of her neck. It was an odd thought, really, for Bonnibel to be so worried about her, and she wanted to be able to laugh it off, turn it into a joke to ease the tension, but even she knew when doing that would be messed up and totes inappropes. Like right now, because it was exceedingly rare for Bonnibel to show not only this kind of vulnerability but this amount of it. “I’m sorry, Bon. I really am. I guess I just never really thought it would hurt you this much if I bit it, you know?”

“No. I don’t know.” Her voice was harder now, but no less filled with emotion.

Marceline winced. “I just never really think of you as needing me.”

“Of course I need you, you idiot,” she mumbled. “You’re my best friend.” There were three little words that typically followed that statement, but they often wandered off and went missing. Not that it mattered, really. Marceline knew it was true all the same, even if Bonnibel was afraid to say it, afraid to say them, as if the sentiment itself could destroy her. This wasn’t helping ease that fear, though now their silence was a hair less tense.

“I’m sorry, Bonnibel,” she repeated.

She sighed, but didn’t pull away. “Why did you eat what was in the beaker, Marceline?”

“...I was hungry?”

“You know I keep apples in the kitchen, and the rose garden-”

“Yeah, but… sometimes you want a little variety in your life. And whatever the stuff was looked awesome! Tasted nice, too.”

Unseen by Marceline, because she was unwilling to leave the embrace, Bonnibel frowned. “So you ate an unknown substance because you were feeling peckish, when you know that I keep often dangerous chemicals in my laboratory? It could have been poison, or acid!”

“Yeah… but odds were good that it was also harmless and tasty. You do a lot with making your candy peeps, so…,” she trailed off as the woman in her arms pulled away, glare back in full force. She gulped.

“How do you feel.” No one could make a question feel like an accusation quite like Bonnibel Bubblegum could.

Marceline sighed. “Still the same. Nothing’s better. Just heavy, my skin is sensitive, my head hurts, and I think my stomach does too? It’s hard to move and I’m just… tired. It’s like I’m aware of every single bone in my body.”

“Mm.” Now she was pulling away and Marceline was left missing the warmth she provided. “It’s interesting that you’re this vulnerable.” That one word caused the vampire to tense; ‘vulnerable’ was just a nice way of saying ‘helpless’, and she would never,  _ ever  _ again-

“Shh…” Apparently her seething had been visible, because now there was a pink hand running its fingers through her hair before settling a calming pressure on the back of her neck, previous animosity either forgotten or put on pause. The vampire hated how well that stupid simple gesture worked. “I’m beginning to think the experimental solution isn’t in of itself causing this reaction. It may be that it’s because you’re not used to being sick, and so your body is exacerbating the symptoms.”

Against her will garnet eyes slid shut. “I get hurt and junk all the time,” she mumbled.

“True,” she agreed. “You’re quite accustomed to external threats, such as crushing or evisceration. This is a different type of injury, one you’re not accustomed to, and so I hypothesize that your body is, for lack of better term, going haywire in trying to find a way to fix the problem. Your healing isn’t an automatic panacea, and we both know it. You have to know how something works to fix it, and I never saw fit to make sure you learned how to cleanse your body of pathogens or other foreign agents that could cause you distress.”

“You say that like you’re my keeper or something,” she muttered.

“Aren’t I?” 

Even with her eyes closed Marceline could  _ see  _ the know-it-all smirk.  _ At least she’s starting to calm down.  _ “...Shut up.” Maybe if she didn’t look at the truth it would go away.

“Mmhm.” She smirked, rising from the bed. She was right and evidently they both knew it. “Though how interesting it is that you should suffer this type of reaction when I’ve seen you consume any number of questionable sources of red.”

Though her eyes remained shut Marceline rolled onto her back, then her side once more to face the outer perimeter. Only then did she open them. “Yeah, speaking of… what was in it?”

Now her smirk was almost evil, as if she had been waiting for this. Perhaps she had. After all, nothing cheered Bonnibel up more than lecturing about science. “I’m so glad you asked, Marceline.”  _ Oh, this is gonna suck. She’s got her ‘you fell into a trap’ face on.  _ “Concentrated cherry syrup liqueur infused with generous amounts of phosphoric acid and fluoride. I had been developing it as a potential nutrient supply for my candy people creations, in order to prevent their natural decay and preserve their structural integrity, thus increasing their lifespans and helping to cope against the natural elements, such as rain.” Marceline stared blankly, and that just made it more delicious.

“Uh… Bon? Hate to break this to you, but I’ve drank before, so-”

“Oh, I’m not done.” Her self-satisfied smirk reminded Marceline of a shark she once met. “Do you know what alcohol, phosphoric acid, and fluoride have in common?” There’s a rhetorical question if there ever was one. “They’re all magnesium antagonists.”

“...Uh..”

“Ah, I can see you’re confused. Allow me to explain.”

_ Figs. _

“You see, Marceline, when a chemical or element acts as an antagonist it means that it works against another chemical or element, and when there is enough of one and not enough of the other it purges it. You were sick in my laboratory before I found you, correct?”

“Uh…”

“You see, Marcy.” The sickeningly sweet tone had returned.

_ Uh oh. _

“Some of the most common symptoms of a prolonged magnesium deficiency are fatigue, headaches, muscle weakness, nausea… are you noticing a theme here?” She sighed the ‘you’re in trouble’ sigh and Marceline returned to her idea of turning into a bat and fleeing. “Vampires, by rule, drink blood. It’s how they get their nutrients. You are a vampire. A vegetarian vampire, but a vampire all the same. You subsist on the color red by choice, as you refuse to risk harming others. In order to absorb the appropriate amount and types of nutrients you need to consume more red than a typical vampire would consume blood, and your diet needs to include red from appropriate sources.”

“Uh…”

“Now, magnesium doesn’t show up much in natural food sources that are also red, limiting your options. For you to be  _ this  _ deficient suggests to me you haven’t been eating properly in quite some time. Is this true?” It was less of a question and more of an ‘if you tell me the truth I’ll go easier on you.’

Marceline gulped, unsure as to whether or not Angry Lecture Bonnie was any better than Hurt and Betrayed Bonnie. After several long seconds that felt like several long years she decided that yes, she was, and to celebrate this decision she turned not into a bat, as she imagined Bonnibel had been anticipating, but a rat with thick, plush, black fur, teeny grey claws, a long grey tail, long sensitive whiskers, and four garnet eyes. No sooner had she dived under the blankets her plans for escape were thwarted when she felt a hard grab her from above the covers, grip strong enough to keep her from wiggling. Not that this grip needed to be hard; shape-shifting had taken the fight out of her, and by the time she was maneuvered out of the blankets Bonnibel’s smirk said it all.

“...You set me up.”

“I did, yes. Now tell me the truth.” Now her voice was softer. Still firm, but less accusatory. Now she wanted answers more than she wanted to feel her own righteous fury. She sat on the bed, cupping the rat, knowing she wouldn’t run now, even if she could.

Marceline turned away. “...S’hard.”

“What is?”

“...Keeping track of what I should eat…”

When she trailed off, Bonnibel smiled softly, finishing for her. “When every instinct in you says to drink blood?”

Now the rat did react, curling into a tight ball. “I don’t drink blood.”

For a brief moment Bonnibel felt a pang of guilt at having gone off on her twice now, for having assumed that Marceline was merely being incorrigible without fully investigating why  _ before  _ jumping to such an accusatory lecture. In truth, she had expected the cause to be something along the lines of her girlfriend simply partying too much to take care of herself properly, and she hadn’t considered the possibility that this was a symptom of a greater problem.  _ Sorry, Marcy.  _

“I know, Marceline. I can’t imagine what it must be like to fight against that urge every day. We both have partially restricted diets, but I can largely eat whatever I want so long as there is copious amounts of sugar involved.” Her smile was more profound now as she considered the greater implications of that statement. “I never considered how involved you are with that before now, given that one of my numerous talents is not cooking food. I had always left that part to you.” With a smile she nuzzled the top of the rat’s tiny head with her cheek. “You  _ do  _ make the best spaghetti after all. And tea. Especially for someone who can eat neither.” A tiny huff, but she still leaned into the affection. “But my dietary restrictions don’t involve hurting others, and I rarely appreciate your level of restraint.” The rat was placed in her lap, where it remained curled up. At least, until a gentle hand began to rub its belly. Then Marceline rolled over, resuming her normal form, head still in her girlfriend’s lap as she enjoyed the physical attention. Even if it did make her drowsy. Even if she was only now realizing that that was the point.

“I do have an idea, though.” A pointed grey ear twitch, the only sign the vampire was awake and listening. “You enjoy apples quite a bit, don’t you?”

Marceline nodded, mumbling a soft, “please don’t tell me you’re gonna science a new type of apple.”

It was a fair accusation, so Bonnibel only laughed softly. “No, silly. Sometimes nature has solved the problem for us. You enjoy fruit, and luckily enough… there are lots of red fruits that have considerable amounts of magnesium naturally occurring. You’ll still need to eat more, and this doesn’t replace a varied diet, but it should help offset this deficiency.”  _ Which I should have predicted- _

“It’s not your fault, Bon,” she mumbled, not wanting to move at all. She was just so comfortable. Not too comfortable to predict that Bonnibel would swiftly move into taking responsibility for their current situations. It was a side effect of her knowing herself brilliant, but the scientist often put the burden on herself to predict when things will go wrong, even if doing so was impossible.

Bonnibel sighed, but it wasn’t one of frustration, or have sadness. It was an appreciative sigh, an affectionate one, and a reminder of the reason  _ why  _ she was so terrified of losing Marceline. “No, it’s no one’s fault. But… you’re the best part of my life, and if I can solve your problems I’m going to do so. And I am sorry I exploded at you,” she whispered sheepishly.

Marceline smirked, still not moving. “S’okay, you dork. I know lecturing is how you show affection. Go ahead, nerd your solution at me.”

Bonnibel rolled her eyes. “It’s simple. We’re going to plant some fruit bushes.”

The older woman cracked an eye open. “...What?”

“Oh yes,” she nodded. “Remember my hypothesis? Well, we can plant a strawberry and raspberry garden around your home and my cabin. Those fruits are particularly high in magnesium. Of course, we’ll have to go through the rest of your diet to see what you might be deficient in…” She tapped her chin and the musician raised an eyebrow.

“Not that I’m against this plan, cause strawberries rock… but I’m half-demon, Bon. Doesn’t that, you know… make stuff harder, since it’s not like I work like I would if I were human? Or-”   


If anything, this brightened the candy golem’s expression. “Oh! You’re right! I’ll need to do a full analysis of your physiology if I’m going to properly assess what an appropriate diet and nutritional intake for you would be!”

“...So when you say you’ll ‘need’ to-”

“Oh yes. This is a need, Marceline. I refuse to allow you to get sick like this again. And who else would ever get to experience such a discovery! You’re one of a kind, Marcy, and I want to know more about you.” It was hard to argue with the brightness in her eyes, the elation in her voice at having a new project. And, really, Marceline didn’t mind being a project; Bonnibel had done similar things before and had always treated her well, never giving any implication that she was  _ just  _ an experiment, or only a point of discovery, a means to an end. And, really, it was perhaps the greatest compliment Bonnibel could ever give: being interesting enough for her to want to devote her time, energy, and giant brain to. It made Marceline laugh sometimes, this version of romanticism that her girlfriend possessed that she imagined few would appreciate, maybe even be insulted by.

But that’s just the way she was. She was over a hundred years old, but Bonnibel had never stopped asking ‘why?’. She had never outgrown her desire to know and discover, she had only learned the ins and outs of making it happen. Marceline knew that Bonnibel loved her as much as she could love anyone, whatever that emotion meant for her. She had never feared the musician, even when she personally witnessed the atrocities she was capable of. Bonnibel trusted her, and Marceline was, perhaps, the only person in the world who could say that. Yes, she was egotistical and controlling, sometimes focusing on her own projects to the point of being neglectful, but she had always been there when the vampire had really needed her. The two hadn’t started their time together as friends, and maybe their prank war had gotten a  _ little  _ out of hand when they were younger, but sometimes science was an art, and Bonnibel was as much an artist as the half-demon.

Marceline laughed softly, affectionately. She settled under the blankets, gently tugging a pink wrist to prevent Bonnibel from leaving. “Chill, nerd alert. Come cuddle with me and let me sleep first, alright? The you can stick things on me or in me or whatevs you’re planning.”

As her eyes closed she heard a sound of ponderful before she hard the ruffle of stained and spoiled clothes being shed, the bed sink under another’s weight, and a familiar warmth pull her into an embrace. “Yes,” she heard a soft whisper. “I think that’s a wonderful idea, Marcy.” Why wouldn’t it be? She needed the comfort just as much as her girlfriend, and Marceline knew it. Knew it, but didn’t draw attention to it. With a smile she tucked the blankets around the older woman, feeling cool breath against her chest.

“Mm… and Bon?”

“Yes?” Now the blankets were pulled around them, causing one to yawn, followed by the other.

“You’re one of a kind, too. Don’t change.” And then she was asleep, snug in her girlfriend’s arms, trusting her to keep her safe in her vulnerable state. Even if the assertion had been only mumbled it still caused Bonnibel to blush. Even now, after decades of friendship, she wasn’t used to this type of affection, and she wanted nothing more than to preserve it. Of course, things changed all the time, in little ways, including people, but she knew what Marceline was  _ really  _ saying, and it was a promise to be by her side, to support and love and her no matter what she did, so long as she was still her. And so Bonnibel sighed her own happy sigh, knowing she was with the one person who she would ever show her own vulnerability to, the only person she  _ knew  _ she could find comfort it without the risk of duplicity or back-stabbing, because it was simply not in Marceline’s nature. She was genuine and supportive, and despite all of the horrors of her past she wanted nothing more than to protect that which she loved. Which, apparently, included Bonnibel. But now it was time for Bonnibel to protect her, to keep her comfortable and safe as she healed.

As her girlfriend slept Bonnibel stayed awake, stroking her long onyx hair, mind racing as she considered not only the course of events of the day, but their emotional implications as well. Not too long ago Marceline had been willing to sacrifice herself by pushing her out of the way of the falling debris of a controlled implosion that was anything but. She hadn’t even thought about it; Bonnibel had been her only consideration. Not many could say that when their girlfriend was tested they would put her first, especially when it was a matter of life and True Death. Today? Today Bonnibel had realized how sincerely attached she was to the vampire, how losing her was in fact her worst nightmare. Even now the thought made her tense, tightening he embrace. It was decided. Tomorrow, or perhaps the day after, she resolved ask Marceline to move in with her, because physics had taught her that time was an artificial construct, and so she needed to stop assuming that they had forever together to work things out. It was time to be proactive.

With that in mind, and with the resolve to be the family Marceline deserved, just as Marceline was the family she had always never known she needed, Bonnibel lifted herself just enough to place her lips against the sensitive grey ear and whispered three little words.


	2. Consonance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real talk: Aaaand we're back! One of the things I often do in my writing is establish certain plot and character arcs to be addressed later. Sometimes they can be pretty obvious (you all know Marcy's sedatephobia is going to be its own story later), but a lot of the time the things I do in my writing are a lot more subtle.
> 
> With that in mind, I want to give a public shout-out to a reviewer, freshMango, for catching something I didn't expect anyone to ever catch: check every single one of my stories, never once have Bonnibel and Marceline said "I love you" to one another. This is 100% on purpose. They've referenced their love for one another, mentioned it to others, even come close to saying it! But never have they actually said those three little words out loud.
> 
> I actually have a lot of rules in my writing, but that's one of the most subtle and most easily missed, so seriously, I'm impressed. Why don't they say "I love you"? I've hinted it throughout the series, and I'm not spoiling that effort now. Sorry guys, I like secrets and hints too much.
> 
> I hope you enjoy the second half of Duet. This is actually one of the oldest story ideas I ever had, and I'm glad it came to fruition before the second half of Opening Act.
> 
> Content Warnings:
> 
> Descriptions of sickness  
> Almost naked-ladies  
> Innuendos  
> Implications of previous character death  
> Awkwardness

_ Easy, easy… quiet… _

The soft pitter-patter across a cold wooden floor.

_ Careful… _

Each step precise. No sound could be made. She would hear if there was any noise.

_ Almost there… _

The natural abilities of her unnatural existence gave her perfect night vision. Quite advantageous, given who her prey was. She smirked, liking the way that word felt in her thoughts, in her mind. ‘Prey’. Prey probably wouldn’t appreciate the comparison, but it was totes apt. The thought made her snicker, but the noise was too loud; she froze as Prey shifted in her sleep, rolling over to face her. But the other woman was still asleep and the vampire smirked, knowing she’d have to be more careful. With the glass window separating the cabin from the greater world opened more than its previous crack and slid shut once more, aided by a light touch of telekinesis, it was time to get to work.

And then there was no more vampire, no more humanoid figure. Because the name of the game was stealth, for Prey could be a light sleeper at the most inopportune times. This called for a form that made no sound, and where there was once a half-demon there was now a black rat with four garnet eyes, thick fur helping to muffle the tiny nails on the hard floor. The rat skittered around a chair leg, over a book, stopping briefly at a discarded vermillion brassiere (just for a snack), and the small mammal stopped just before a long, thick, pink blanket, almost absurdly plush and cuddly. Tiny claws rubbed together in glee before scaling the side of the bed. By the time she reached the summit the rat was glad it couldn’t laugh in this form, because it would surely give her away.

But nothing said she couldn’t be smug.

Sensitive ears strained for the sound of soft, rhythmic breathing. Fast asleep. Adorable.

_ That’s it. Stay sleeping. _

Adorable, but as a master of stealth she knew that arrogance could easily be her downfall. Prey had known her for far too long, and though she still had some tricks up her sleeve there was something to say about the benefit of experience. And so the small rat crept quietly along Prey’s side, relying on the thick blankets to cover the tiny sounds of tiny nails. Once she reached the small of Prey’s back she shifted into invisibility, just for added measure. Even that wasn’t fool-proof; Prey had an uncanny ability to know exactly where she was, even when she was invisible.  _ Like a telepath. _ But it did give her some security.

At her shoulder now, soft gummy hair tousled from a fitful sleep. She frowned at that, hoping it didn’t mean unpleasant dreams for Prey, who was prone to insomnia and nightmares. Even when she did sleep it wasn’t always restful. The small rodent resisted the urge to scuttle over her shoulder, didn’t want to risk Prey waking up, because knowing the vampire’s luck that’s exactly what would happen. But the other woman’s heartbeat was strong and steady, her breathing calm and deep. The rat decided to chance it, and in one swift motion she slid under the blankets.

The funny thing about chance, though, is that it can go either way. When Prey immediately flipped over, pink hands gently but firmly wrapping around the wiggling mammal, Marceline Abadeer realized she had gambled and lost. An amused and ever-so-smug voice chuckled darkly against the vain squirming. “Marceline. Did you honestly think I wouldn’t notice you sneak into bed?”

In that moment Marceline Abadeer decided that Bonnibel Bubblegum did not make very good prey.

The vampire gulped. There was something oddly intimidating about a woman made of pink candy with a grip like iron. Without relinquishing her hold the younger woman sat up, gradually manueving herself until she her wayward friend sat on the pink blanket, atop a rather soft lap. Every movement was slow, deliberate, meant to be imposing and intimidating and oh how it was working. A small paw rubbed the back of her neck nervously.  _ Busted.  _ “...Yes?”

A pink eyebrow arched. “And what could possibly make you think you would ever be able to sneak up on me after more than a hundred years? Brazenness? Cockiness? Foolishness?” More squirming. “All three?”

The small head ducked.

“All three then.”

Well, she wasn’t wrong.

“Did you have fun?” A question asked sickeningly sweet and Marceline knew she was in trouble.

“...Yes?”

“Oh good. I’m glad it was worth it.” Finally the hand released, and only then did Marceline notice something off. She blinked, pressing her sensitive rodent nose into the pink palm, only registering the other woman’s amusement enough to be annoyed. As if she didn’t know. “Yes, Marceline?”

“...You’re warm.”

A pink eyebrow arched. “Yes, Marceline. Many living creatures, including candy golems, tend to be warm. Myself and Neddy included.”

The sarcasm, despite being Marceline’s native tongue, did nothing to dissuade her sudden curiosity. In fact it seemed to only fan the flame; the moment she was cleared of the blast radius the rat was no more and the vampire had returned to her true form, perched at the edge of the bed, garnet eyes slitted against the dark, soft pink hand now grasped in cool grey ones. “Yeah, but… not this warm? And you’re definitely a couple shades redder than normal...” It came out as a question but really was more of a muttered fixation.

Bonnibel Bubblegum was nothing but entertained. Her best friend of over a hundred years had disappeared from her life for a month-long tour of Ooo’s budding musical hotspots and returned in the dead of evening, in the middle of winter no less, wearing heavily torn black skinny jeans, an only half-buttoned flannel shirt, combat boots, and obviously mismatched socks, which was quite rude, really, because Bonnibel  _ distinctly  _ remembered packing her only matching pairs. She heard the *thump* of a bass being lowered to the ground, but exactly where it was she couldn’t say; Marceline was leaning in, so close that the candy golem could see the three steel studs lining the bridge of her ear, fangs almost grazing her throat as she listened intently. To anyone else allowing a vampire that close to her throat would be cause for alarm. But Bonnibel knew better. “Marceline, what are you doing?”

The half-demon pulled away, tilting her head in thought. “...You’re warm,” she repeated. “Like… warmer than normal. And your pulse is really fast.”  _ How did I miss that?  _ With a frown she retreated, finally giving her friend’s bedroom the appraisal it deserved, because it was only then she began noticing the inconsistencies. Sure, the walls were still the same tan wood as the rest of the cabin, with the same ebony bookshelf stuffed with books. And sure, the rectangular royal purple throw rug on the hard floor was still blemish-free, the simple mahogany desk and chair still covered with neat stacks of papers and quills. But the rest? Bonnibel was normally an exceptionally tidy individual, but here not just one but  _ several  _ outfits littered the floor, joined by used cooling pads and empty bottles of liquid. It was winter, but the window had been left open a crack. The scientist’s skin was clammy, for one of her kind anyway, and she wasn’t wearing a nightgown, only her pink bra and panties, a sight that made Marceline blush horribly. The bedroom door was open, whereas she normally always kept it shut when she slept. Even the black-out curtains had been drawn, and come to think of it her usually finely made bed had been haphazardly done, as if it had been in use for a long-

“You’re sick.”

Bonnibel smiled softly at the declaration.  _ Here we go again.  _ “It happens, Marceline-”

Too late. The vampire was gone, and the younger woman rolled her eyes. Already her perpetual headache was intensifying, because as much as she loved her friend she had the exact same reaction every single time she fell ill, no matter how severe the illness or short its duration. She was never forthcoming as to why, but it was perhaps the only time in her Unlife that Marceline was ever predictable.  _ 5… 4… 3… _

And just like that she was back, bottle of water in one hand, a cup of warm tea in the other, a candleholder floating to her side. By the time Bonnibel had finished her sigh the water bottle was shoved into her hands, the tea and candle set on her oak bedside table, next to the book she had spent the day reading. When Marceline saw it was a  _ novel  _ of all things her eyebrows rose. “Man, you were  _ really  _ sick, huh?” A tiny orange flame lit the tip of a gray finger, which then lit the candle before dispersing. “There we go. Stop trying to see in the dark, you’re gonna make your headache worse. And I know you have a headache, Bon, you always get one when you’re sick.”

The pink woman sighed, knowing where this was headed. “I’m fine Marceline.”

“Uh huh.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“Uh huh.”

“You’re overreacting.”

“Uh huh.”

“Are you even listening to me?”

“Nope.” Piercing green eyes narrowed at the older woman, who made the heart-wrenching decision not to address that paradox. Which was an unfortunate choice in retrospect, because it gave the vampire an opening. “How long have you been sick?”

Bonnibel  _ wanted  _ to tell her that she hadn’t been keeping track and avoid this part of the interrogation, but the half-demon would never believe her. She was too meticulous. “Six days.”

Quiet contemplation, then- “...You should have called me.”

The scientist avoided answering by consuming some of the water provided to her, but when the thought ended there, when it became obvious that Marceline was expecting a response, she had to sigh once more, placing the now half-full water bottle on the table, next to her tea. She should have known better: never once in their decades of friendship had she ever avoided this course of events. If she got sick Marceline became overprotective, and that was that, cause and effect, if/then statement. “Marcy, be reasonable. I know you. If I had called to tell you I was sick what would you have done? Cut your tour short?”

“Yes.” She would, too, that was the scary part.

“Precisely. If it were serious I would have alerted you, but I was fine on my own.”

Marceline fixed her with a level stare. “Dude, your room is wrecked.”

“It’s not  _ wrecked _ , as you put it. Merely temporarily disorganized.”

“You just said it’s been like this for like a million years.”

“No.” She closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose.  _ We have this same conversation every single time.  _ “I said for six days. I’m going to be fine, Marceline.”

This did not discourage her, it only caused her to bristle. “Bon, you left both your bedroom  _ and  _ your bathroom door open. You only do that when you’re  _ really  _ sick cause you’re gonna-”

“It’s only a precaution!”

The two stared at one another, neither backing down from their positions, even if Bonnibel was quietly panting from the exertion of arguing.  _ Why am I even doing this?  _ She felt a stab of guilt as she saw the hurt glint in her vampire’s eyes, the one part of herself she had never learned to properly conceal. It was obvious Marceline was trying her best to protect her and nurse her back to health, and Bonnibel had to admit it: there was just something nice about your best friend caring for you so devotedly when you’re sick. After all, the candy scientist was used to having to fight every day to keep herself and her brother alive, and so, really, this pampering was a welcomed respite if she was willing to admit it to herself, not that she was. But even before it was pampering, when it was just one friend caring about another friend, it had seemed oddly… intense, and Marceline had never been forthright with why. It was a distraction that, over time, had evolved into a puzzle, and oh how Bonnibel’s mind loved puzzles.

It was nigh impossible for the younger immortal to imagine just giving in and letting herself relax into the care she was being offered. Did she trust the vampire? More than anyone. But she had spent her formative years alone, and that had taught her that independence was the only way to survive; either you were dependent or you were the one people were depending on. This was never the way Marceline treated her, and it was, in simple terms, confusing. The older woman was childish and mercurial, but treated her as an equal in almost every case. Except now, because now was when she encouraged Bonnibel’s dependence in the form of ‘helping’ her. It was too strange to the scientist, too wrong, because letting her help meant sacrificing…  _ what exactly am I sacrificing? Pride? Dignity? Independence? Am I really losing anything at all by letting her help me now?  _ That was an oddly loaded question.

Marceline broke the stalemate by shoving the tea in its dainty floral patterned lavender cup, part of a set the duo had recently discovered during one of their treasure hunts into the ruins surrounding the Grasslands, into waiting hands. “Drink your tea.” 

She meant for it to sound forceful, but it just sounded chagrined and Bonnibel’s expression softened.  _ I know you’re just trying to help, Marcy, but I’m over a hundred years old and have created entirely new life forms.  _ It wasn’t in her heart to discourage the vampire though; after decades of living as the sole provider of her brother it was wonderful to have someone else taking care of her needs for a change and put her wants and desires first, even if Marceline did have a tendency to go overboard when she was worried. And that’s all it was, Bonnibel reminded herself.  _ She’s just worrying about you. Don’t be a ding dong, Bubblegum. You’re fortunate you have someone in your life like that. _

She sipped her tea, willing to admit that it did always make her feel better. Maybe it was because it was something lovingly prepared just for her, or maybe it was just really good tea, she wasn’t really sure, but it softened her, soothing her nerves and throat, and when her headache began to lift it took her irritation with it. Once the entire cup had been consumed at a speed that surprised even her she placed it back on her nightstand. “Marcy…” She cupped the other woman’s cheek, turning her gaze away from the floor. “I know you’re just trying to help me, and I appreciate it. I mean that sincerely. It’s reassuring to know that even when I’m at my most vulnerable I’m in no danger, and that I’m not alone.”  _ Like I used to be. _

“So tell me the ‘but’,” came the muttered response.

_ Not even a crack at that play on words?  _ That meant it was serious, and it took her soft expression and corrupted it into something sad.  _ Did I push back too hard?  _ It was certainly possible. In everyday life few things seemed to genuinely bother the laid-back and impish vampire. It was, instead, the odd triggers, and her obsession with caring for the younger woman was the oddest of all.  _ Or at least in the top ten.  _ And really, it  _ was  _ charming.  _ Maybe I’m sicker than I thought if I’m lashing out at you so abruptly.  _ Maybe, maybe not, but she took the safe bet and kissed her gray cheek, removing her hand. “No ‘but’, except that I would like more tea, please.” Those were the magic words: with uplifted spirits the musician was off to the cabin’s kitchen, dainty teacup in hand, leaving Bonnibel to settle back into bed.

The gentle *clink* of the porcelain cup being gently set besides her roused her from an impromptu nap. “Sorry, Bon. Didn’t mean to wake you.” She sounded adorably sheepish, a reaction that was difficult to obtain under normal circumstances.

Bonnibel did not have time to enjoy it, she was already frowning. “How long were you gone?”

Marceline frowned in concern, perching on the edge of the bed. “Five minutes? Tea doesn’t exactly take a lot of time, Bon. ‘Specially since yours is like 105% honey.”

She almost reminded Marceline how percentages work, but that took a backseat to- “I fell asleep in less than five minutes?”

Now the vampire was smirking. “Told you you were sick. It’s the only time I can get you to sleep without, like… bribing you.”

That didn’t help her frown, but it did encourage her to stay snug in bed, turning to lay on her left side, unable to face her queen. Secretly encourage her at least. No way she’d give Marceline  _ that  _ satisfaction, but her soft laugh spoke volumes.  _ Busted.  _ Rather than draw attention to it, though, the musician began to rub soft circles in the younger woman’s back, smirk becoming a grin when she felt her figuratively melt under her touch.  _ My heart’s dead, Bon, you can’t keep making it warm like this. _

Neither woman was quite sure how long they stayed like that, Bonnibel half-dozing under Marceline’s touch, Marceline absently rubbing her back, drawing patterns, shapes, letters, whatever came to her subconscious. It was a comfortable silence, calm and almost pure in its simplicity.

Until.

“Marcy, you should lay in bed with me.”

That was sudden, and the hand stilled. “Uh…” In reaction to her articulate response a pink hand reached out, patting her side of the bed. “Uh…,” the articulate response continued. It was a good thing that Bonnibel was facing away from her, because Marceline was now flushing. Had they shared a bed together before? Well, yeah, sure, but… with more clothing on, definitely. With either having so little clothes on, though? She couldn’t remember, but now seemed like a good time to know. It was a reminder of an unavoidable fact of their immortal lives they had somehow become really good at avoiding: they had been getting closer to one another, much more so than either had anticipated. When they could be together they were, when they could help one another they did. They enjoyed bringing each other into their respective worlds, proud to share those pieces of themselves that made them whole. They hadn’t even really defined their relationship yet. Or, more accurately, redefine their positions in one another’s life, because they had started out as one step away from enemies. But now? They were too close to be purely platonic, but both were too jealous to imagine the other in a serious relationship with someone else. Neither had the courage to be the first one to step forward and make their relationship formal or even admit they wanted it to  _ be  _ formal, leaving it purely unspoken and leaving them firmly in the ‘in-between’. And so Marceline did what she always did in tense and awkward situations: she made it into a joke. “I don’t know, Bon, I don’t think you’re up for that.” 

The patting was repeated, more insistent, the accompanying voice amused. “That wasn’t what I meant, and you know it.”

Did she?  _ Do I?  _ She turned away, even if Bonnibel wasn’t actually looking at her. “You should def drink your tea, BonBon. It’ll help.”

The candy golem laughed softly, which turned into a series of coughs. Embarrassment forgotten, Marceline reached down, taking her hand. “See, Bon?,” she asked softly. “Can I help you now?”

The candy golem opened her mouth to protest, then closed it. It was such a foreign concept; before meeting her vampire the idea of receiving help was laughable even when she needed it, let alone when it was only a nicety. It was part of what moulded her into some so headstrong and self-reliant; she’d never had anyone to help with any of her burdens, and while she  _ knew  _ she was the smartest person alive, dead, or in-between, she was only now realizing that you could want help without needing it, that she was allowed to have that luxury. And with that she nodded, surprising even herself, even Marceline. She had never answered ‘yes’ to that question ever before, and even if she couldn’t vocalize her assent the message was loud enough to matter.

Marceline recovered from her surprise quickly, unwilling to miss this unique opportunity. She slid one arm between Bonnibel and the mattress, lowering her voice. “Why don’t you turn on your back and I’ll help you sit up?”

Did she need help sitting up? Even if so, could she admit that?  _ I suppose it’s inconsequential. I most likely could on my own, but it would be less difficult with assistance and would allow me to conserve energy, which I suppose would expedite my healing…  _ And that was another novel concept: admitting vulnerability. Whether or not she could ever let her guard down before didn’t seem to matter, because Marceline had slipped in anyway, and if she was going to use what few weaknesses the younger woman possessed against her it surely would have happened a hundred years ago.

“Here we go…” Before she realized what was happening pillow were being propped behind her back, her shoulders, her head, allowing her to lay against her headboard without adding to her dizziness. When she felt a presence perching next to her she weakly pulled her sit properly next to her. Bonnibel preferred her to the actual pillow anyway. “So why are you inviting me into your bed?” Perhaps she meant for that to sound cocky, but instead she sounded almost nervous.

Bonnibel smirked but didn’t draw attention to the faux paux. “You’re nice and cool,” she murmured. Soft laughter, then the sound of boots hitting the floor. Before her eyes could close her second cup of tea was slid into her hands, and she gratefully sipped it. “You must tell me how you brew your tea."

“Uh uh. Trade secret,” came the smug reply.

“Marceline, you can’t even  _ drink  _ tea. It’s not logical that you should be able to brew it so well!” She was both serious and joking at the same time, and it bothered her that there was no adequate word for when one does both simultaneously.

“And yet here we are.” Bonnibel narrowed her eyes, sipping through her indignity. “Sorry, BonBon. Can’t give you all my secrets.” She winked as she took the now empty cup from the younger woman, setting it on the bedside table. “Now before you assault me with your pointy words, you wanna tell me what’s up?” She raised an eyebrow, gesturing to the bedroom at large.

Now comforted by soft pillows, two cups of warm sweetened tea, a bottle of life-giving water, and the presence of her best-friend-but-possibly-more, it was easier to let her embarrassment over her current state slide into something calmer. Her head came to rest on Marceline’s shoulder and she sighed at even that slight coolness against her burning forehead. “I’ve just been feeling ill, Marcy.”

“Have you… been feeling better? Like… how’s it been like?”

Bonnibel blinked through her fatigue, suddenly aware that the tone of the vampire’s question had changed into something nervous.  _ No, not nervous… she almost sounds scared. What could scare a vampire half-demon hundreds of years old?  _ “Well,” she began carefully, “to spare you the more grotesque details, there’s light sensitivity, fever, head and body aches, fatigue, dizziness, and, ah… stomach-” She was saved from finishing that sentence by a fit of coughing. “And that.”

Marceline rested her head on to of the young scientist’s. “But… it’s been getting better, right?” 

The nervousness, the fear, had yet to fade, and Bonnibel responded by reaching down, grasping a cool, calloused hand into her own and squeezing it. “Marcy,” she replied gently, “I’ll be fine.”

“It’s just…” Now she was squirming, though she was doing a great job of hiding that fact. “You’ve been sick before, but you’re usually a fast healer…” When she trailed off Bonnibel moved to lay down and was immediately - if not involuntarily - assisted.

“Come here, Marcy. Your skin is delightfully cool.” To emphasize she squeezed her hand once more.

“Oh, so I’m just an ice pack to you, huh?,” she pouted in obvious jest. The nervous awkwardness remained.

Bonnibel rolled her eyes. “Yes, you’re a medical device.”

She laughed softly and the younger woman couldn’t help but smile. It was hard to resist doing when she heard that musical sound. “I’m gonna take that as a compliment comin’ from you. But I want a badge that says it.”

“Medical equipment doesn’t usually come with badges, Marceline.” Now she was shedding her own shirt and pants and it took everything in Bonnibel’s power not to do anything incriminating.

“Yeah? What do we get?”

“Warranty cards and instruction manuals.”

“Phft. Lame.”

Bonnibel meant to reply with a jest of her own, really she did, but now she understood why Marceline had stripped to be as poorly clothed as she herself: if she thought her clothed cool shoulder on her warm cheek felt nice her cool skin against her fevered skin felt amazing. She shuddered both from the temperature change and from the sheer pleasure, readily pressing into her friend-who-was-possibly-more-than-just-a-friend, elated when the arm draped around her gently pulled her closer, clearly being mindful of her skin sensitivity and soreness, both only slightly aware of their lack of clothing. She smiled dreamily, let a happy sigh, and was content to lay like that. Until.

“...You’re gonna be alright, right Bon?”

Now Bonnibel was worried. Worried, because Marceline often asked that question with her eyes, her posture, her actions, but never vocalized it. She blinked but didn’t roll over, both too comfortable and too aware that she was having some stomach concerns she didn’t want exploring, least of all in bed. “...Marcy, please tell me what this is about,” she gently urged. “And I’m going to be fine, especially with you here.” She blushed and was glad the vampire couldn’t see it from her angle.  _ Truer words, Bubblegum… though perhaps not because of the reasons you want to admit to yourself. _

The older woman began playing with her fingers, fingers softer and finer than her own. “...When my mom..” At first she trailed off, but soon she brought herself back on track. “When my mom got sick, that was it. She lasted for awhile, but…” A sigh and Bonnibel squeezed her hand, a silent urge to continue. “When I was a kid I would’ve died from getting sick, but being half-demon saved me. S’only reason. When Simon got sick because of his crown he didn’t get better either, he just headed north. When I found the humans I hung with them while I was protecting them and staking all the vamps, but if any of them were sick longer than a couple weeks… well, a lot of them were smart, but no brainlords were there to make them better if they got sick.”

The implication was too large to logic away and even her normally stone heart ached. “Your experience has taught you that people who get sick tend to-”

“I can’t let anything happen to you, Bon.” She held her just a tad closer, voice watery but firm. “Don’t you get it? I’m immortal, whether I wanna be or not. You’re my best friend, but you’re not like me, though. If get hurt I can recover. You’re effectively immortal since you can choose what age you wanna be, but if you get too sick…” She sighed, but it did nothing to cleanse her spirit. “Don’t you get that my worst nightmare is eternity without you?,” she whispered.

Now, against sounds of protest, Bonnibel did roll over, stifling the accompanying nausea by nestling her head in the crook of Marceline’s neck, wrapping an arm around her waist in a silent signal that she had no intentions of moving. Both completely forgot that they were supposed to be embarrassed by their shared almost-nudity. “It’s alright, Marcy. I’m not that kind of sick. I feel gross and my body is doing certain things involuntarily,” she waited for a giggle or joke that never came, “but I’ll get better.”

“...They always say that,” Marceline whispered.

Bonnibel nuzzled into the embrace, her friend’s cool skin not quite breaking her fever, but bringing her much closer than she ever could on her own. “ _ I’m _ saying it. Besides, you can stay right here and help.”

She could hear the watery smirk in Marceline’s voice. “So you’re gonna let me take care of you?”

A huff. “...Yes.”

“‘Cause you enjoy it?” Less watery, more smirky.

She wasn’t going to dignify that completely accurate statement with an affirmative. “And while we’re on the topic of health, how was your tour?”

Ah, the melodic laugh she loved. “You know what, I’ll let that slide, ‘cause music is indeed life. And it was good. Met some righteous peeps, made some new fans. Think I did an interview with… some magazine or something.” It was hard not to laugh at how bewildered she sounded.

“I take it it was hectic?”

“Better be. If things aren’t going nuts at a punk rock concert you’re doin’ something wrong, Bonnie. It’s like if you do an experiment and nothing explodes.”

Now it was Bonnibel’s turn to play with her friend’s fingers, to appreciate the callouses borne through perseverance and dedication. She wondered how many of them were new. “Generally speaking, Marceline, the goal is for an experiment to  _ not  _ explode.”

“Oh.” She sounded disappointed. “Then what’s the point?”

“Not all knowledge is created from explosions, Marceline.”

“Yeah, but, like… it couldn’t hurt, right?” The witty retort the candy golem struggled for was halted by a fit of coughing and once more Marceline was frowning. “Come on, BonBon. You should rest. You want some more water?”

Bonnibel shook her head around her yawn. “I’m alright for now, Marcy. When are you heading back?”

She could  _ feel  _ the disdain radiating. “And leave you like this? Nope. I’m staying here to take care of you, dork.”  _ And you secretly like it, don’t you?  _ She hoped so, at least. She certainly had no plans to stop.

Maybe it was Bonnibel’s blush that gave her away. “That… I can take care of myself, Marceline.”  _...Even if… _

_ You really don’t want to, though.  _ “Sure you can, I don’t doubt that. But why do it all yourself when you’ve got back-up?”

“I-”

“Besides… you don’t exactly have the best track record when it comes to taking care of yourself. You’re not a reliable source, Bon.” She rolled her eyes. “Sometimes I think I have your best interests at heart more than you do.”

_ She’s not necessarily wrong…  _ “I just-”

“Think you’re invincible.” Her smile was sad. “Don’t get me wrong, Bonnie. You’re righteous and I grock you, but you have weaknesses just like everyone else. I protect them for you, but that means you gotta let me protect you too, alright? Sometimes… that means from yourself.” The embrace tightened, the ‘just like you protect me’ unspoken, but resounding. “I’ve known too many people who thought they were invincible. In the end we called ‘em ‘vampire thralls’. There aren’t any more vampires… but…”

“The sentiment remains,” Bonnibel whispered. Her mind was made up, her eyes closing. “I trust your judgment, Marcy.” Why didn’t those words, or the meaning behind them, scare her?  _ What are you doing to me, Marceline? _

“Rock.” She pressed her hand against her forehead, then her pulse. “You still feel warm?” When a drowsy nod was given in response she frowned, had an honest to goodness idea, then smirked a self-satisfied smirk. “Alright, hold on.” There was the sensation of the vampire shifting around her, the sound of cracking bones the weight of the bed shifting. The sound of mutilation never raised an alarm for Bonnibel; she was no stranger to gore even without the half-demon’s input, but her best friend loved to shape-shift and that often meant loud breaking bones. Before she could inquire as to what exactly she was up to she felt something cool wrap around her.

She peaked an eye open only for a moment, but even in the dark she could see what it was her friend was up to. It was when she felt the cool, supple texture being wrapped around her like a blanket that she sighed happily, snuggling against her friend. In the back of her mind she registered that the two were more skin-to-skin than not, and perhaps Healthy Bonnibel would have been flustered by such a realization. But Healthy Bonnibel was not around that day, and Sick Bonnibel was only too happy to let herself sink into her best friend’s strong arms and- “Won’t your wing get cramped if I lay on it?,” she mumbled sleepily.

“Nah. I’m good.” This was emphasized by the large grey bat-like wings tightening. “‘Sides, this way you get a full-body ice pack. Once your fever breaks I’ll shift back and get some actual blankets over you.”

For some inexplicable reason Bonnibel wasn’t looking forward to that part. “Are you going to stay?”

Marceline chuckled. “You’re kind of on me, Bon. Besides, I promised to look after you, didn’t I? You know I only have three rules. I don’t break promises.”

When she felt a gentle hand stroke down her hair she yawned, relaxing her head against her chest. It was becoming harder not only to stay awake, but to convince herself that she needed to.  _ I have a resource. Why should I let it go to waste? If Marcy wants to help… it would be an insult to refuse her. Yes. That makes perfect sense. Well done, Bubblegum. _

The musician smiled, watching her best friend’s losing battle against sleep. It was adorable, really, watching Bonnibel pretend she didn’t need food or sleep like other living creatures. Marceline especially like the part where she lost.

“You’re honestly going to just watch over me all night?”

“I’m nocturnal, Bon.”

“But-”

“Yeah, nerd. If I skip out before I know it you’ll be trying to do work or something else you shouldn’t be doing. Get some sleep. If you need something I’ll get it, alright?”

“...Alright, Marcy. I trust you.”

Marceline’s heart didn’t beat but she could swear she felt it stop. In their decades of friendship she had never gotten used to hearing that from the younger woman. By now her heart rate was calm, and though her breathing was more labored than Marceline would ever like to hear she was alive and safe. As she absentmindedly stroked down the candy golem’s gummy hair the queen stared into space, aided by the soft light of the pink candle. Beyond the drawn blackout curtains it was winter now. Snow often turned her thoughts more somber, often reminded her of what she’d lost.  _ I hope you’re safe, Simon.  _ Traitorous tears stung her eyes so she looked down instead, at the sleeping woman in her arms. 

Bonnibel Bubblegum. Her best friend, but… perhaps they were more. Was there a word for that weird in-between, where you’re not sure if you’re together but you’re not sure you’re not  _ not  _ together?  _ I bet German has one. Bon says you can just make up words in German using other words. I like that in a language. I can appreciate a free spirit.  _ Not that Marceline was one for labels anyway, even her punk rock image aside; after all, she was half-demon, and what do demons care for romantic titles or platitudes? One of the many things Marceline and Bonnibel agreed upon was that actions would always be a better indicator than words.

And yet… some things do need to be said, some things need to be verbally clarified because without the words the meaning can be lost. Some melodies just go better with lyrics, some songs need accompaniment. Marceline tried to imagine her eternal Unlife without the younger woman but, nope, it just couldn’t be done. Her laugh was soft, silent, bittersweet.  _ I try to go the rest of forever without getting close to someone and you got in anyway. So, that’s it Bon?  _

Without even looking for it she found her answer, the answer to the questions that had danced between the pair for far too long. Why it was impossible to imagine either of them in the arms of anyone else; why she didn’t mind risking True Death if it meant just another hour or two with the candy scientist; why eternity without her really was her greatest fear; why she had an entire rule against hurting her and  _ specifically  _ her; why she was willing to not only die for her but to live for her as well. It was all so simple she almost overlooked it. She turned back to the sleeping woman, wry smile now soft, watched as her eyelids fluttered as she dreamed something that must, for once, be pleasant. A true rarity: a pleasant dream.  _ So this is what being in love with someone is like, huh nerd?  _ A soft mumble and the warmth above her cuddled closer. Marceline could do nothing but smile a smile most unbefitting Ooo’s punkest of the punk rockers. Somehow, though, she didn’t care.

_...I’ll tell you tomorrow. _


End file.
